


Ten of Ten

by kurdapya



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU, there's a something scene in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:20:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurdapya/pseuds/kurdapya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten of Ten

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies. This was a fleeting fancy. Had to get it done.  
> WARNING: THE ITALIAN IS MUSH. IGNORE IT

Enjolras Smith prides himself on three things: his face, his passion for wiping away the smug smirks of politicians and his ability to lie through his teeth to his husband.

 

Enjolras brushes his teeth and spits out the fluid on the sink, just as Grantaire comes up behind him to spit into the sink as well.

"You couldn't wait until I was done?" Enjolras asks, scowling at his husband before stepping away from the sink to pull on his pants.

Grantaire rinses his mouth and gargles, and then spits it on the sink as well. "No. I couldn't wait to spit out the gross toothpaste in my mouth. If you had bought the one you were supposed to buy, it wouldn't have been a problem."

Enjolras raises an eyebrow as he does up the buttons on his shirt. "It's not my fault you forgot to put it on the list."

"We've been married six years. You should know what sort of toothpaste I like by now," Grantaire says.

Enjolras rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and then buttons them up. "Seven years. We've been married for seven years."

"Even more reason for you to know the kind of toothpaste I like," Grantaire answers as he tugs on his pants.

Enjolras sighs and walks from the bedroom to the kitchen. "Don't forget we have an appointment with Miss Fauchevelent this afternoon. I scheduled it on both of our lunch breaks so we could make it. Don't be late."

"I won't,” Grantaire huffs out. “I still don't think we need to go and see a shrink, but if that's what you think we should do then I'll go with you," he says as he grabs his lunch from the counter.

Enjolras turns to set the alarm, pushing the button only once Grantaire's already out the door.

 

-

 

“So why don’t you start by telling me why you’re here?”

Enjolras crosses and then uncrosses his legs, looks down at his hands on his lap and then looks over at Grantaire. They make eye contact and Enjolras nods his head, silently suggesting Grantaire starts talking first.

“Well, let me start by saying that I don’t think we need to be here,” he says.

The therapist, Fantine Fauchelevent, looks between them and writes something down before looking back up. “Well, Enjolras must have booked the appointment for a reason,” she replies with a smile. “So why do you think you’re both here, Grantaire?”

Grantaire clears his throat and crosses his legs. “I think this is more of a check-up. Kind of like when you take a car in to get looked at even though you know everything’s okay. Preventative maintenance.”

“Okay. Let’s check under the hood.” She looks at the clipboard on her hands. “On a scale of 1-10, how happy would you say you are in the relationship?” Fantine asks.

“Eight,” Enjolras says at the same time that Grantaire says, “One being miserable or zero being miserable?”

The therapist jots something else down in her notebook. “Answer instinctively.”

Enjolras turns to his husband. “Ready?”

Grantaire nods and together they answer, “Eight.”

Fantine scribbles something down quickly before she looks back up. “Okay, so why don't you tell me how you met?”

“Well, it was six years ago-”

“Seven. We met seven years ago,” Enjolras interrupts.

Grantaire smiles at him knowingly before he continues speaking.

“It was six or seven years ago in Italy. We were both on vacation and we were staying at the same hotel,” Grantaire starts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Enjolras turns to look as the front door of the hotel is thrown open and over a dozen police officers storm in side. He tosses back his shot of vodka, wiping his mouth before he sets it back down on the bar. It burns on his throat. He never did like alcohol.

“Cos'è tutto questo trambusto su? (What's all the fuss about?)” Enjolras asks the bartender.

The bartender takes his shot glass and washes it down before throwing it a small distance away so it lands in a nearby bin. “Qualcuno ha ucciso il Senatore. (Someone killed the Senator),” he replies in the same language. “Stanno cercando per i turisti che viaggiano da soli. (They're looking for tourists travelling alone.)”

Enjolras turns his back on the officers, mind racing. He hasn't even killed anyone yet and now there’s a chance he’s going to get arrested before he even has the chance to finish his mission. This is not how he thought his trip to Italy would be going.

“Mi scusi, vuoi che viaggiano da soli? (Excuse me, are you travelling alone?)”

Enjolras turns around at the question, pretending not to hear over the noise in the now crowded hotel lobby. The officer asks again, this time with his voice raised and Enjolras is about to make up a lie about his partner being out on the town when the doors are pushed open yet again, this time to reveal a man dressed in a white button down shirt, dark curls wild on top of his head and a frantic look on his handsome features.

“Sei qui da solo? (Are you here alone?)”

Something about the way the man is looking at him makes Enjolras realize that he isn't the only one on edge here. They make eye contact from across the room and it's with a barely there nod of his head that Enjolras is moving across the room.

“No. Siamo insieme. (No. We're together)” Enjolras says, speaking in Italian as he curls an arm around the man's waist. “Grazie per aver portato lui a me. Mi è stato sempre preoccupato. (Thank you for bringing him to me. I was getting worried.)”

As soon as the nearest door they come through is closed, they both lean up against it, listening for the possibility of the officers coming after them.

“My name's Grantaire,” the man says quietly, extending a hand.

“Enjolras.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds before Grantaire lets out a small laugh. “Drinks tonight? On me.”

Enjolras licks his lips, the blue of Grantaire's eyes almost captivating him. Any thought of the real reason he’s in Italy far from his mind. At least for the moment. “Free drinks. I'll be there.”

 

-

 

“To being in the right place at the right time,” Enjolras says, raising his glass and tapping it against Grantaire's. They both take a gulp and Enjolras takes the moment to stand up. “You can drink, but can you dance?”

The music is a slow, pulsing bass. The kind that gets under Enjolras’ skin and makes him want to get up and feel the rhythm. Enjolras tosses back the rest of his drink, eyes never leaving Grantaire's as he throws the glass into a nearby surface. He moves easily to the beat, arms going over his head as he dances. Enjolras joins him after he finishes his own drink, sliding in behind him and slipping his hands underneath the thin fabric of Enjolras’ shirt.

“Your skin is soft,” Grantaire murmurs into Enjolras’ ear. “I like it.”

Enjolras hums his approval, the alcohol making everything blend together. Grantaire's fingers splay out on his abdomen, and Enjolras can feel the calloused pads of his fingers as they move up and down. Enjolras moves his hips back, smiling when Grantaire moans and his hands slip down to grip Enjolras’ waist, thumbs pressing into his hip bones as they sway together to the beat.

Enjolras loses track of the time, even the sound of the other people around them and the thunder overhead can't distract him from the way Grantaire fits so perfectly against him, as if he was a missing puzzle piece to Enjolras’ body. Rain begins to fall, extinguishing the fires that had been lit around them, but the music plays on.

Grantaire turns Enjolras around, warm palm sliding up the back of Enjolras’ shirt and pressing them closer together. Enjolras bends back, collecting raindrops on his tongue before he lets Grantaire pull him back up. He twines his fingers into the hair at the back of Grantaire’s neck, his hair already wet. Grantaire's eyes follow Enjolras’ mouth, but Enjolras keeps them a teasing distance apart, moving his hips in small circles, changing the rhythm whenever the song changes.

Eventually, the people surrounding them begin to leave. Enjolras wonders briefly at what point the music will be shut off, but that thought is quickly erased as Grantaire brings them to a nearby picnic table and pulls Enjolras into his lap. Grantaire reaches for the bottle of vodka, taking a sip of it himself before turning it to Enjolras’ mouth. Enjolras stares into Grantaire's eyes as he drank, watching when Grantaire's gaze slips from his mouth to his throat as he swallows the alcohol.

Grantaire lowers the bottle to the table, reaching his hand to curve around Enjolras’ neck. His gaze is dark and hungry and makes something stir low in Enjolras’ stomach. Grantaire's eyelashes flutter as they close, and Enjolras leans down to connect their mouths.

He twists the front of Grantaire's shirt as he explores his mouth; Grantaire tastes like vodka and something else entirely and it’s mesmerizing and Enjolras chases the taste, delighted when he's able to pull a moan from the other man.

The rain is increasing at this point, and Enjolras can feel the way his clothes are sticking to his body, can only imagine how hard it will be to get out of his jeans.

Grantaire seems to be thinking along the same lines when he pulls back and rests their foreheads together. “How about we take this back to the hotel?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Enjolras twirls his knife, watching as Grantaire pulls up the driveway and parks his car. He has an errand to run tonight, and as much as he knows lying to his husband is the only way to protect him, he really wishes he didn't have to do it so often.

"Good timing," Enjolras says when Grantaire walks in through the front door. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes."

Grantaire mumbles something about needing a drink and heads to the liquor cabinet.

"I got called into work tonight. Some statements need complete revision because someone failed to inform us a necessary piece of information," huffs Enjolras as he sets the table.

Grantaire sits down with a rum and coke and looks up at Enjolras. "So you'll be out all night then?"

"Oh, probably. Don't wait up for me," Enjolras answers.

They eat dinner in silence, the only sounds are the scraping of forks and the clink of their knives cutting through the chicken.

Grantaire's phone rings towards the end of dinner and he excuses himself from the table. Enjolras busies himself with cleaning up the plates and loading the dishwasher, humming to himself as he waits for Grantaire to return.

"That was the company," Grantaire says, reaching for his coat. "There's been a break in. They need me to come down. Some instruments are gone, some broken, and they need me to check on the piano if it’s still in perfect condition. Honestly, who steals musical instruments?"

"Musical fanatics that can’t afford their own instruments?” Enjolras shrugs. “Was anyone hurt?" he asks, closing the dishwasher with his foot.

Grantaire shakes his head as he does up his coat. “Nobody’s hurt. Looks like we’ll both be out late.”

“Call me when you’re on your way,” Enjolras passes Grantaire his gloves as he walks by. “I’ll either be here or stuck at work until tomorrow afternoon. I might sleep on the couch in my office to catch a few hours. Easier than coming home.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow night,” Grantaire says, dropping a quick kiss before opening the front door. “I hope your team doesn’t mind getting shouted at.”

Enjolras laughs softly, waving his hand to excuse Grantaire. “Let me know what the damage is.”

“I will. Have a good night, Apollo,” Grantaire closes the door behind him, and Enjolras waits for the start of the engine and the flash of headlights on the window to make his move.

Enjorlas walks quickly to their bedroom and throws open the closet door, reaching up into one of the boxes and pulling a little. There are two tiny beeps before the closet door flips over to reveal a line of corsets and various lascivious equipment.

He reaches for the black and purple corset, sliding it over his head and zipping it up in the back. He pulls on tight, black leather pants and adjusts himself before grabbing the small black bag in the corner and throwing a trench coat over his outfit.

Enjolras calls a cab, not wanting to take his own car and risk being recognized by one of their neighbours. He hops into the cab and gives the driver the address. He applies make-up on his face in the backseat.

The cab pulls up to the curb and Enjolras steps out, black leather Dr. Martens just above his knees where the trench coat stops. He pays the cab driver extra and asks him to wait, saying he’ll only be about ten minutes and he’ll need a ride to work when he’s done.

There’s an ape of a man waiting outside when he gets to the door, and all he has to do is raise an eyebrow before the door opens and he’s let inside. He walks through three more doors before he comes to a glass one. He knocks four times and the lock clicks open, allowing him to push through.

Enjolras clears his throat and the man standing at the opposite side of the room drops to his knees immediately. He unzips his bag and pulls out a tiny black object, pushing a button and making a whip pop out of the end.

"I've heard you've been a bad boy," Enjolras says. "I think it's time that you should be punished."

Enjolras walks towards the man, boots thumping on the floor as he gets closer and closer. "Close your eyes."

He pulls a black handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping it around the man’s head and tying it at the back. He cracks the whip once, making the man jump.

Enjolras drops his trench coat to the floor, ignoring the chill he feels when the cool air hits his body.

"You've been a bad, bad boy," Enjolras purrs, draping the whip over the man's shoulder. He curls his hand around the man’s shoulders and up his neck, thumbs pressing gently before he snaps his neck.

Enjolras picks up his trench coat and does up the buttons. He heads over to the door and opens it, closing it quickly behind him.

Enjolras smiles at the security guard and shrugs. "He's going to need a little while. He wanted a little bit more than the usual tonight."

The guard’s eyes widen and he makes sure the door is locked as Enjolras walks away.

Enjolras climbs back to the taxi and gives the driver the address to his office. As the driver pulls away, he looks over his shoulder to see men start piling out of the building with guns. He turns back to look out the front window, slipping on his black leather gloves with a small smile on his face.

 

-

 

When Enjolras arrives inside the building, Courfeyrac is waiting for him.

"Javert has a new mission for you. It's a rogue agent. Your orders will be sent to your office," he says.

Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose, and accepts the file Courfeyrac hands him. "And what about you? What does he have you doing?"

Courfeyrac smiles. "I'm getting some well-earned vacation time with my someone. See you when I get back, Enj. If, of course, you make it through the mission,” he says playfully.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "When do I ever not make it through a mission?"

"There's a first time for everything, Enj," Courfeyrac says as he walks away. “Be careful.”

Enjolras holds his badge up to the scanner and he waits for the elevator doors to slide open before he steps inside, allowing the doors to close behind him. He holds his hand up to the palm recognizer, just as the eye scanner drops down from the ceiling. They both beep at the same time, pronouncing admittance into the building. The elevator doors open up again, this time to reveal his floor which is quite different from the revolving chairs and large desks any politician has going by the various technology littered in the room.

A tiny blonde appears beside him almost immediately, talking a mile a minute. "Did Courf tell you that Javert’s looking for you? I hope he did because there's a new mission for you and it's definitely a good one. This one might get you that promotion you've been looking for."

Enjolras perks up a little. "It must be serious then. Cosette, get me all the information you can on this new mission and have it sent to my office. Javert will only give me a half assed file. I need everything that you can get me as soon as possible."

"Of course. I'll have it sent up as soon as I can," Cosette says, before making a quick departure.

Enjolras walks quickly to his office, trying to ignore the way he can feel everyone staring at him. It feels like they're waiting for something, as if they're waiting for him to do something. Enjolras gets inside his office, and closes the door. He finds the file already on his desk and he sits down. He takes a sip of the coffee Cosette left for him, opens the file, and promptly spits it out all over his desk.

The file that Javert had sent him, the rogue agent that could make or break his career, also happens to be his husband Grantaire.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"How often do you have sex?"

Grantaire looks at Enjolras for a moment, and then looks down at his hands. "Is this another one to ten question?"

"If so, would zero be never? Or would one be never?" Enjolras asks.

Fantine writes something on her notebook before she looks back up at the couple. "It's not a one to ten question. How often do you have sex?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Grantaire is a hard working, honest man. He’s a member of an orchestra, helps support his husband, and is secretly an assassin.

Grantaire slides off his wedding ring the second he pulls up outside the theater. Montparnasse is waiting for him, talking on his cell phone while waving around a file.

"That it?" Grantaire asks as he steps out of the car. He locks it then holds his hand out for the file as they both walk towards the building.

"Sure is," Montparnasse says, holding the door open to let Grantaire step through. "Thenardier said it was a very important mission. Rogue agent. Right up your alley."

Grantaire takes his coffee from the receptionist, and heads over to the elevator. "Everything is right up my alley, ‘Parnasse."

Montparnasse smiles as they step into the elevator together. "You are a very talented agent, Grantaire."

"Oh, Montparnasse, flattery will get you nowhere," Grantaire says, pressing his thumb against the indicator.

Montparnasse does the same on the other side of the elevator. "Yes well, it doesn't stop me from trying does it?"

The elevator begins to move sideways, pausing occasionally to scan the bodies inside. Finally, the elevator beeps and comes to a stop. The doors open to reveal a white room with doors lining the walls.

"Before you open that file, there's another mission on your desk waiting for you. Enjoy poker night!" Montparnasse says before walking away.

Grantaire pulls out his key card to scan it before the door beeps and lets him inside. He sits down at the desk putting the file in his hand to the side and then opening the file on his desk. He smiles when he sees what it is, closes it and then calls himself a cab.

 

-

 

Grantaire pulls up to the club to find a line around the block. He steps out of the cab and walks straight to the bouncer, whispering a name in his ear before being let inside. He makes his way through the crowd to the back room, pushing open the door to find four men playing a card game, sitting around a table.

"I was just looking for the bathroom, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt," Grantaire tells them, pulling at his neckline. "Oh, are you guys playing poker? Mind if I join you?"

They all look at each other before they all shake their heads. "Sorry, man, private game."

Grantaire holds up his wrist to reveal a Rolex covered in diamonds. "If I win, I get your money. If you win, you keep my watch. What do you say?"

"Sounds good,” one man says. "You can play until the Shoe gets here. After that you'll be escorted out."

Grantaire grabs a chair from beside the door and brings it over to the table. He flips it around and straddles it, before throwing his watch into the center of the table.

"Okay, boys, are you ready to lose your money?" Grantaire asks as he picks up his cards.

Two hours pass before the door opens to reveal an older man with a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. "What the hell is going on here? Are you looking for a job?"

"You are the job, Shoe," Grantaire pulls the gun from the holster hidden by his jacket, shooting the man straight to the heart.

Immediately, chaos erupts around him. Grantaire plants his feet on the table and pushes himself back to slide across the floor, pulling out another gun and shooting all four men in quick succession.

He blows the smoke from the guns before replacing them in their holsters then grabs his watch from the table. "Good game, boys."

 

-

 

When Grantaire arrives back at the theater, he finds a note stuck to his office door that says ‘Call Me!’ in Montparnasse’s handwriting. Grantaire shakes his head, rolling the paper into a ball and throwing it in the trash can. He looks down at his desk, the mission Javert issued staring back at him. He sits down on his chair and puts his feet up, flipping open the file to the first page.

Enjolras Ramin Tveit

Grantaire frowns at it, a little surprised, never having heard of someone with his husband’s name before. He reminds himself quickly that Enjolras’ last name was Fisher before they got married and he flips the page. His feet fall to the floor with a loud thud when he finds a picture of his husband staring back at him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You’re going to what?” Bahorel says loudly, head poking out from behind the punching bag.

Grantaire swings and he disappears again, the chain holding the bag up rattling loudly. “Propose, Bahorel. I’m going to propose.”

Bahorel steps away from the punching bag and slips on his gloves. “You’ve known the guy for what, a month?”

“Don’t care. He’s perfect. He’s hot, intelligent, very pretty, and he’s a political representative so he goes on trips and meetings and works late. It’s perfect,” Grantaire counters, holding his hands up as Bahorel begins to swing. “I don’t even know if he’ll say yes.”

“Look, dude, I’m all for you being happy, but with our lifestyle and the lives we lead, marriage and love is sort of impossible. Not to mention if the agency finds out...” Bahorel trails off, blocking one of Grantaire’s hits.

Grantaire steadies himself before he begins to swing again. “They won’t find out because I’m not going to tell them about him.”

 

-

 

Enjolras looks up from the document on his hand and nods. “Okay, this will do.”

“So this guy you met, what’s his name?” Combeferre asks as he turns.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras leans forward to get a hold of the next folder on the stack. “And he’s perfect.”

Combeffere laughs softly. “They are never perfect, Enjolras. Something has to be wrong with him.”

Enjolras holds out the folder and Combeferre takes it. “He co-owns a theater, he’s a pianist, he goes away to perform with his orchestra for long periods of time and he works late. Not to mention he’s hot and sweet. Based on the kind of industry I’m in, he’s perfect.”

“How’s the sex?” asks Combeferre, handing him another set of papers.

Enjolras flushes a light pink, taking the papers from Combeferre and starts looking through it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but the sex is absolutely phenomenal.”

Combeferre smiles at him. “Well, that’s a plus. How do you know he’s proposing again?”

“I’m a trained assassin, it’s my job to know people,” he says. “And I may have checked his credit card bill and there was quite a large purchase from Tiffany’s.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Enjolras parks on the road behind the house, hidden by bushes. He flips up the passenger seat to reveal a hidden compartment, two G17’s and a twin gun shoulder holster inside. He slips on the holster and loads both guns, checking the safety pins before tucking them inside the holster.

He exits the car, closing the door quietly before running to duck behind the bushes. He slides under the fence, jumping up two seconds later when he notices the tiny red dot on his chest. Enjolras presses a button on his headset as he runs, bullets making the ground explode around him.

“Well, hello there, Mr. Tveit,” Grantaire’s voice is cocky, and Enjolras can hear the gun shooting in the background as he runs.

“So you know my real name, R,” Enjolras says as he reaches the garage. “Must have been quite the file you got.”

There’s the sound of a clip hitting then followed by a quick reload. “Oh, you know, just the usual: target’s name, age, place of birth, relatives. All the fun things you’ve been lying to me about for six years.”

“Seven,” answers Enjolras, breaking off one of the car mirrors with his foot. “I’ve been lying to you for seven years.”

Grantaire laughs in a way that makes him shiver. “Seven years then. You have a father in the Senate? Seems like you’re following his footsteps, only, we both know that’s not quite true.”

Enjolras flinches. The only thing that he hates more than lying is his father.

“You told me you were disowned by your parents and had no family. Your parents think you’re dead,” says Enjolras as he ducks into the kitchen.

“Necessary precautions,” Grantaire says. “I’m sure you understand.”

Enjolras hums his agreement as he rolls out from behind the counter, bullet zooming past his head as he gets behind a wall. “Where are you hiding, R?”

 

-

 

Grantaire clicks off his blue tooth and tosses it to the side. “These walls are thin, you can probably hear where I am,” he says and ducks his head back down to look through the sight. “Why are you hiding from me, Apollo? Afraid?”

He can hear Enjolras laughs softly through the wall and he dives to the other side of the room to flip over the kitchen table and hide behind it. “What’s so funny?”

“Just that you think I’m afraid of you when you have the most unsteady hands I’ve ever seen,” Enjolras answers as a bullet pierces the table. “Have you ever experienced smoke when you’re trying to shoot your target?”

Grantaire’s about to answer when an oval metal container lands beside him and begins to smoke. “God dammit, Apollo!”

Enjolras laughs again, and Grantaire ducks around to the front entrance way. “That all you got, sweetheart?”

“Of course not. I like to play with my prey before I eat it,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire puts his M14 on the floor beside him and pulls out one of his P11’s. “What makes you so sure you’ll be having me for dinner?”

He crawls across the floor and grabs his duffel bag from inside the closet, opening it and removing a grenade.

“I think you’ll be rather tasty.”

He pulls the pin and tosses it in the direction of the kitchen.

Immediately he covers his ears, and lays flat on the floor as the house shakes and dust and pieces begin to fall from the ceiling. A few picture frames fall on the floor and smashes on the ground, distracting Grantaire for only a moment before there’s a bullet grazing his head.

“You’re better than I thought you were,” Grantaire yells, getting up onto his feet and ducking back into the living room.

“Oh, darling, you have no idea,” Enjolras replies.

“I’m sure I’ll appreciate it more once you’re dead. Maybe,” says Grantaire, sliding across the floor to crouch behind the kitchen counter. “We’ll see.”

“I’m not the one that’s going to be dying tonight,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire narrowly misses being stabbed by a knife that rips the sleeve of his shirt and sticks into the wall.

 

-

 

“Your hands may be steady, but your aim is terrible!” Grantaire yells over the counter, and Enjolras watches as he ducks behind the island. “How have you had this job for so long and not been killed yet?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and pulls out his other gun. “I’m the top agent at my agency, and according to your file you’re actually pretty damn good. So why go rogue? What made you go against the rules?”

“Go what?” Grantaire sounds surprised. “Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question?”

Enjolras rolls out from where he’s hiding to find a gun pointed on his face. He raises his own quickly, eyes locking with Grantaire’s. Bright blue and uncertain, and that more than anything makes Enjolras hesitate.

His mind flashes back to meeting a mysterious man at a hotel in Italy, back to when Grantaire comforted Enjolras over a fake funeral for his entire family, back to the time they stayed in bed all day just to have sex and he has to swallow around the lump in his throat. For the first time since he opened the file, he knows he can’t go through with it.

“Just do it!” Enjolras yells through clenched teeth, hand shaking as he tries to keep his gun upright. “Do it!”

Grantaire’s hand is steady, his face unreadable. “No, you do it.”

“God dammit, Grantaire! Just shoot me!” Enjolras says, lowering his weapon. “I can’t—I can’t kill you.”

“I can’t kill you either,” Grantaire says softly, pushing on the safety before throwing his gun to the floor and closing the distance between them.

Grantaire’s hands come up to cup Enjolras’ face, his eyes fluttering shut as Grantaire connects their mouths. Enjolras grabs onto Grantaire’s biceps, fingers pressing in as he walks them backwards towards the counter. Grantaire makes a noise when his back hits it, and Enjolras reaches down to grab at his thighs and lifts him up onto the marble countertop. Grantaire locks his legs around Enjolras’ waist, heel pushing at his back to get him closer.

Enjolras rips open Grantaire’s shirt, buttons popping off and bouncing on the floor tiles while Grantaire flicks open the button on Enjolras’ jeans and pushes them down his thighs. Enjolras gasps against Grantaire’s neck when he curls his fingers around his cock, tentative and slow.

“Fuck,” Enjolras moans, hips twitching up into Grantaire’s hand. “I—Wow. I didn’t realize how much I missed your hands on me until right now.”

Grantaire bites down on his bottom lip, tongue soothing over it before he sucks it into his mouth. Enjolras scrambles, urging Grantaire to push himself up so Enjolras can slide his pants down his legs. Grantaire kicks them from around his ankles and reaches between them to press their cocks together.

“Too rough,” Enjolras whines. “There’s lube in the bedroom.”

“Too long, too long,” Grantaire says, reaching up into the cupboard beside them to grab a bottle of olive oil. Enjolras looks at it with distaste but Grantaire puts it on the counter. “First, I want to suck you.”

Enjolras steps back, watching as Grantaire slides off the counter and drops to his knees. He wastes no time in sucking Enjolras’ cock into his mouth, lips wrapping around the head before dropping all the way down until Enjolras can feel it hitting the back of his throat.

“Jesus, fuck.” Enjolras’ fingers dig into Grantaire’s hair, looser because of his excessive sweating. His hips thrust forward and Grantaire makes a noise of approval, fingers digging into the globes of Enjolras’ ass and pulling him closer. “Oh, god.”

Grantaire releases his cock from his mouth, leaning down to suck on his balls before he licks a line up the base and moving up to press a kiss to the head. He almost looks sad as he jumps to the counter and pours some olive oil into his hand. “Come here.”

Enjolras pulls his pants down further, trying to pull them off but getting stuck on his boots and he gives up, moving forward quickly. He groans loudly when Grantaire’s hand curls around both of their cocks, Grantaire’s hot and heavy against his own. They both look down at the same time, watching as Grantaire’s hand moves up and down.

Grantaire uses his free hand to tilt Enjolras’ head so he can kiss him, tongue slipping past his lips to explore his mouth as his hand works. He pulls at Enjolras’ hair until he turns and exposes his neck, then nips and sucks along his jawline before latching on and pulling the skin past his lips.

“Grantaire,” moans Enjolras, hands digging into Grantaire’s thighs. “No marks.”

“Yes marks,” Grantaire pulls back for a moment, admiring the red skin before he goes back to sucking, adding teeth and suction. “Mine.”

Enjolras reaches between them, hand wrapping around Grantaire’s to tighten his hold. “You feel so good.”

Grantaire wraps his legs around Enjolras’ waist and pulls him closer, gasping against his skin when it changes the angle of his cock and lines them up perfectly. “Fuck, Apollo, gonna come.”

“Come all over me,” Enjolras pants, making Grantaire’s eyes widen. He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks across his palm, fingers pushing past his lips as he wets them. He makes eye contact with Grantaire as he moves his hand back around their cocks, and his husband’s hips stutter as his fingers curl around their cocks. “Do it, R.”

Grantaire moans loud and long, thrusting up into Enjolras’ fist as he starts to come. Enjolras watches as Grantaire’s come hits his shirt, sliding over his hand onto his own cock. He keeps stroking, knees buckling as his orgasm hits him. Grantaire whines from over sensitivity as Enjolras strokes himself through it, releasing them both before his hands come to rest on the counter to hold himself up.

“Well,” Enjolras starts, reaching for the paper towel but Grantaire grabs his hand before he can grab it. Enjolras watches as Grantaire sucks his come covered fingers into his mouth. “Fuck, are you trying to kill me?”

Grantaire lets go of Enjolras’ fingers with a loud pop. “Not anymore, no.”

“You’re funny,” Enjolras drawls, as he slides his pants back up his hips. He buttons them up and looks over when Grantaire hops off the counter. “What are we going to do?”

Grantaire looks at him questioningly, both of them wiping the remaining fluids on their body. “What do you mean?”

“They’re going to send others to kill us now,” Enjolras answers. “Because we didn’t kill each other like they wanted us too.”

“Shit,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras can tell he’s thinking of his co workers coming after him just like Enjolras knows Courfeyrac or any of the others will come after him. “Well, there’s only one thing to do.”

Enjolras raises an eyebrow, smiling a little when Grantaire tries to do up his shirt but can’t because of the buttons missing. “And what would that be?”

“We have to take them out first,” Grantaire responds cheekily but is completely serious.

The second the words leave Grantaire’s mouth, a bullet smashes through their kitchen window and zooms past Enjolras’ head, lodging into the kitchen cupboard.

“Fuck, good timing,” Grantaire breathes. He turns to the direction of where the bullet came from. Whether it’s Enjolras’ or his own colleagues, they both don’t know. “Way to ruin our post-sex glow, guys! Congratulations, assholes!”

“Come o—”

They both drop to the floor just as another array of bullets take out the rest of the window. Grantaire ducks behind the kitchen island while Enjolras takes cover behind an overturned kitchen table.

Enjolras raises a finger to his mouth, signaling Grantaire to be quiet. “We have to get to the stairs,” he mouths.

Grantaire shakes his head. “No,” he mouths back, “the backyard.”

“They probably have us surrounded,” Enjolras hisses and clamps a hand on his mouth. “Trust me,” he mouths again.

Enjolras grabs Grantaire by the sleeve of his shirt and pulls him towards the basement stairs. He opens the door quickly, nearly yanking off the handle in his haste. They both jump inside and immediately Enjolras reaches for the handle to close it behind them. His balance is put off when Grantaire grabs the back of his shirt, and they both tumble down the first flight of stairs.

“Was that really necessary?” Enjolras snaps as he climbs to his feet, immediately moving towards a box labeled Christmas Decorations.

Grantaire mumbles an apology of some sort, waiting as Enjolras pulls out various Christmas lights and tinsel until he starts pulling out multiple guns. Enjolras loads a SW442 and hands it to Grantaire who takes it with a raised brow. “Why do I get the girl gun?” he whines.

Enjolras loads the USP Elite. He looks at Grantaire that says Are you kidding me? in neon lights. “Be serious.”

Grantaire throws a grin at him. “I am wild,” he counters and snatches the Elite from Enjolras’ hands.

“Oh my god.” He takes the SW442. “I can’t believe this.”

Grantaire takes the safety off and spins the gun on his finger. “They gave me 48 hours to take you out.”

“Same with you,” Enjolras answers as he puts his gun in his holder. “Where’s the trust?”

The door to the basement creaks open and they take each side of the landing, guns pointed towards it. A remote robot makes its way down the first set of stairs and then turns on the landing, dropping something down the remainder of the steps.

It rolls between Grantaire’s feet, and when he sees it’s a grenade, he kicks it hard towards the opposite end of the basement. He remembers too late that the fuel oil is over there as well.

“Did you just?”

“Yes, I did.”

They both run towards the cellar, backs pressed together as they throw open the door and shots begin to fill the air. They get about ten strides away from the exit before the grenade goes off and the house explodes. Both of them are sent flying through the air, landing underneath a tree as their house bursts into flames behind them.

“God dammit, Grantaire,” Enjolras swears as he extinguishes the fire on his boot. “I liked this house.”

Grantaire wipes the ash from his face and smiles innocently. “Sorry?”

“Come on, we have to find a car,” Enjolras says, helping Grantaire to his feet.

They keep their guns raised as they walk, Grantaire covering Enjolras as he smashes the window on a garage and climbs through. Grantaire follows after him, nicking his hand on a piece of glass.

“I was never in the Peace Corps,” Grantaire reveals as he watches Enjolras pushes two wires together and the motor comes to life.

“Oh, come on, I really liked that about you,” Enjolras says, putting on his seatbelt.

Enjolras pushes a button on the dashboard and behind them the garage door begins to open. There’s a single gunman waiting for them, and Enjolras pushes his foot down on the gas, hitting him and knocking him backwards. He climbs out of the car and grabs the man’s gun, lodges a single bullet to his skull, then hops back inside.

“Fuckers get younger every year,” Enjolras says as he backs the car out over the man.

“Did you just?”

“Yes, I did.”

They make it to the highway without further incident, and Grantaire clicks on the radio. “You know, since we’re being completely honest, I should tell you that your cooking is terrible.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve never cooked a day in my life,” Enjolras answers. “It was all my assistant.”

“This marriage has been built on a web of lies,” Grantaire says, feigning anguish. “I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”

Enjolras’ grip on the steering wheel tightens. “We have company,” he says, eyes on the rear-view mirror.

Grantaire turns in his seat, groaning when he sees the three cars chasing them. “Great. Just great.”

He climbs over the center console, Enjolras smacking away his hand when he uses him to help keep his balance before tumbling into the backseat. “Hey, put the claws away.”

“Watch out, I have teeth too,” replies Enjolras.

Grantaire reaches for the button on the roof, the back hatch popping open as he ducks down behind a case of golf clubs. Almost immediately gunfire explodes from all three cars, and Grantaire attempts to shoot out the windows but is met with bulletproof glass. He reaches above his head and pushes the button and watches as the hatch closes.

“They’re bulletproof!” Grantaire yells over his shoulder as he reloads his gun. “I feel now would be a good time to tell you I was married once before.”

Enjolras slams on the brakes, throwing Grantaire between the seats and back into the front. One of the cars tailing them slams into them, rear end sliding underneath their wheels. Immediately after, Enjolras begins slapping Grantaire, aiming for any body part he can reach.

“Are you out of your mind? What is wrong with you?” Grantaire shields himself with his hands, careful to keep his finger off the trigger.

“You’re what’s wrong with me!” Enjolras says angrily.

“It was just a 24 hour thing in Vegas!” Grantaire says defensively, climbing back to his feet.

Enjolras puts both hands back on the wheel. “Like that’s so much better!”

“Stop it!” Grantaire says as he grabs a golf club and opens the hatch. He hits the man hanging out of the car over the head with it and kicks him in the chest, sending him flying backwards. When he bounces back, Grantaire reaches down and grabs whatever is in his front pocket, eyes widening when he comes back with a pin. He jumps back into the car screaming, “Go, go, go!”

Enjolras guns it, wheels spinning on the hood until finally they break free, Grantaire ducking down behind the golf clubs just as the grenade explodes and takes the car with it.

“What’s his name and social insurance number?” Enjolras asks.

“No, you’re not going to kill him,” Grantaire answers as he picks up his gun.

Enjolras grabs his gun from the passenger seat and twists the steering wheel around, the car skidding across the pavement as he shoots out the wheels on one of the cars before aiming bullets underneath the tire wells on the other one. They collide in the middle of the highway, metal crunching and fire blazing.

“Good shot,” Grantaire says. “Who knew?”

Enjolras veers the car back so they’re driving straight again as Grantaire climbs into the front seat. “Thank you,” he says, preening a little.

“Where to next?” asks Grantaire.

“Does Bahorel still frequent that diner you two always escape to?” Enjolras says, swerving around a tire.

Grantaire reloads his gun and nods. “You know him, can never resist a good greasy burger.”

 

-

 

Grantaire waits for Bahorel to order his usual before sliding into the booth across from him.

“R! It’s uh... good to see you, bro,” Bahorel says, folding his hands on the table. “Did you kill that lying dickwad?”

“This lying dickwad?” Enjolras says from the other side of the booth.

Bahorel falters for only a moment. “Hello, Apollo. Always a pleasure to see you.”

“And you,” Enjolras answers dryly. “And don’t call me that. Only Grantaire can call me that.”

Grantaire gives him a fond look and Bahorel fake gags in front of him. Grantaire slaps the other man before saying, “How bad is it?”

“Remember Canada?” Bahorel replies, lifting his coffee cup and taking a gulp. “It’s almost as bad as that.”

Grantaire swears under his breath. “What do we do?”

“What do you do? Listen bro, I’m all for reconciling your love and all that shit, but you guys don’t stand a chance together. You have a small chance if you’re separated, but together? No way. Our entire agency is after you, his probably is too. The only thing that will help you is if you have something that they want. Something they want more than you.” Enjolras’ head snaps up suddenly and he’s out of the booth before Grantaire can ask him what’s wrong.

“Look, Bahorel, I love you, but if you come after us, one of us will kill you,” Grantaire warns before following his husband out of the diner.

Enjolras is behind the wheel on his phone, and from what Grantaire can tell he’s yelling pretty loud. He opens the passenger door slowly and then steps inside.

“Where are they keeping him?” Enjolras asks the person on the other end. There’s a moment of silence before Enjolras says, “Thank you for your help, Jehan.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“A couple of weeks ago, they put me on a mission to take out someone,” Enjolras starts. “But before I could take him out, there was a giant explosion and the distraction gave them enough time to get him back to safety.”

Grantaire clears his throat. “That explosion? Yeah... that was me, trying to take him out,” he says sheepishly.

Enjolras stares at him for a moment before reaching forward and slapping him on the head. “You have terrible aim.”

“Bahorel hit my elbow when he was reloading. It was really not my fault,” Grantaire says as he buckles his seatbelt.

“You’re both idiots. No wonder you get along so well,” Enjolras starts the car and puts it in reverse. “So both of our agencies want the same person. We get him from where he’s being held, and tell them that if they want him, they have to get off our backs.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Right, because there’s no way this could end badly.”

“Trust me,” Enjolras replies as he begins to drive. “We’re going to be okay.” He smiles at him reassuringly with a soft look in his eyes.

 

-

 

Getting their hands on the witness turns out to be the easy part. It’s a little more difficult to actually get him off the premises.

“Enjolras, watch out!” Grantaire yells as they swerve, a grenade landing only a few feet away from them before it rolls onto the grass and explodes, causing bits of dirt to spatter the side of the car.

“You know, since you kidnapped me from my kidnappers the least you could do is drive in a straight line,” the witness says from beneath his pillow case.

“Can you shut him up, please?” Enjolras snaps from the front seat.

Grantaire grabs the top of the pillow case and pulls it off his head. “Could you shut up before he kills you? Because he will, and I won’t be able to stop him.”

The kid laughs and twists his head to smirk at Grantaire. “You guys aren’t going to kill me. You would have done it already.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Enjolras mumbles, turning up the radio.

“Fucking teenagers,” Grantaire mumbles as he shoves pillow case back over the kid’s head and climbs into the front seat. “Why are your claws out?” he asks Enjolras.

“Because doing things your way set off every god damn alarm in the building, we’re lucky we even got out alive!” Enjolras yells angrily.

“My way got the job done,” Grantaire replies proudly.

“It’s always your way! You’re always the first one to break team. It’s annoying,” Enjolras says, turning sharply and making Grantaire smack his head against the window. “I need someone I can rely on.”

“There’s no room for mistakes, Apollo,” says Grantaire. “We have to be a team.”

“Like we know anything about being a team. This entire marriage is fake, built on a foundation of fabrication. We would never know what a team is if it smacked us in the face,” Enjolras says.

If he sees the regretful look on Grantaire’s face, he doesn’t say anything about it.

 

-

 

Getting the witness into the hotel room without making a scene also proves to be very difficult. After uncuffing him and taking the pillow case off his head, he tries to escape from the car. He screams loudly as they carry him inside, Enjolras yelling, “He’s our son. He has a mental health problem, don’t worry!”

By the time they get him inside and strapped to a chair, Enjolras is already impatient.

“Enjolras and I may be having some domestic issues, but don’t let that make you any less scared, okay?” Grantaire says as he settles on the chair across from him. “Okay, Gavroche, why do both our agencies want you dead?”

The kid purses his lips and then shakes his head.

“Okay, so we have three options here. The first one being that you talk, we talk, and everyone leaves happy. The second option, my personal favorite, is that I take your fingernails off with my pliers until you do talk. The third one, Enjolras likes a variety but at the end of every one, you end up dead.”

“Can I get a soda?” Gavroche asks, and Grantaire barely has time to register Enjolras grabbing the phone beside the bed before he’s up and hitting the teenager on the head with it. “Okay! Okay! I’ll talk! I’ll talk. Jesus.”

“Good shot, sweetheart,” Grantaire says with a grin.

Gavroche tugs at his bonds for a moment before he gives up. “Check my back pocket.”

Enjolras moves before Grantaire and pushes the kid’s head forward, reaching into his back pocket. Grantaire watches as the smile slips off Enjolras’ face.

“I’m not the target,” Gavroche says. “You are. You both are. Two competing agents living under the same roof? It’s bad for business.”

“If you’re the bait, then that means...” Enjolras trails off as he starts towards the window, and Grantaire turns to Gavroche.

“My belt! My belt! Don’t hit me!” Gavroche yelps, flinching backwards as Grantaire unclips his belt.

Grantaire flips it open, the locator beeping. “We have two minutes.”

“One minute,” Enjolras corrects.

“We have to go now,” Grantaire says, grabbing Enjolras’ out of the room and flinging open the door to the stairwell. “Come on.”

They make their way quickly down the floors to a backroom. Grantaire makes sure the coast is clear before smashing the back window and hoisting Enjolras up so he can climb through. Grantaire climbs through after him, and they both go for the nearest car and stumble into the backseat.

“My way out is a boat in the harbor,” Enjolras says, catching his breath.

Grantaire turns his head to look at him. “Mine’s a car off Highway 182. What’s your point?”

“At least apart we know what the odds are,” Enjolras whispers harshly. “Let’s just call this what it is... and what it isn’t.”

“So our marriage is shit,” Grantaire whispers back. “I’m a mess and you’re a disaster. We’re both liars. But if you run, you’ll always be running. I say we stay and fight. We take this thing to the end.”

Enjolras laughs quietly. “We’re outnumbered by hundreds.”

“We’re also the best,” Grantaire replies easily.

Enjolras licks his lips and ducks further down in the seat. “Let’s do it.”

 

-

 

They make their way into a mini-mall, abandoned as it’s nighttime and they quickly change out of their clothes into suits. Enjolras thinks he looks alright in his, but the way Grantaire’s hugs his body sends blood rushing in a whole different direction.

“You look good, Tveit,” Grantaire says, eyes wandering up and down Enjolras’ body unashamedly.

Enjolras blushes, can’t help but feel a little bashful. “It’s Smith, actually.”

Grantaire smiles wide and his eyes light up, and it’s then that the Enjolras nearly gets hit with a bullet.

The first round of assassins they take out are easy, young ones who have just been brought in to tire them out. Enjolras doesn’t feel bad as he fires, he knows it’s either him and Grantaire or them. He just got his husband back, he doesn’t want to lose him again.

The next round is more difficult, and one manages to shoot Grantaire on the arm. Enjolras shoots the one that fired the bullet and takes out the three that come after him. He tears off the bottom of his shirt and wraps it above the wound to cut off the circulation.

“You okay?” Enjolras asks as he reloads.

Grantaire cocks his gun and gets to his feet. “If I say no, will you be my naughty nurse?”

“Grantaire Smith, we could get killed any minute and that’s what you choose to say to me?” Enjolras squawks. “No tact.”

“Look at yourself and then tell me I have no tact. As soon as we’re done here, I’m going to show you exactly what I think of you,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras rolls his eyes and begins firing again, both his guns held over Grantaire’s shoulders as Grantaire shoots to the opposite direction on either side of his waist. They’re chest to chest and Enjolras would be lying if he said it isn’t exhilarating watching Grantaire’s face as he shoots.

When there’s finally no more bullets coming their way and all the helicopters that were hovering over the mall have disappeared, they sag on each other’s arms. Grantaire’s arms curl tightly around Enjolras’ waist and Enjolras’ fingers entangle into the back of Grantaire’s hair.

“I love you,” Enjolras whispers into the side of Grantaire’s neck. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Grantaire kisses Enjolras softly on the lips and pulls back. “I love you, too.”

“What are we going to do about the house?” Enjolras asks as he brushes off his pants.

Grantaire shrugs, tucking his gun back into its holster. “I’ve heard Paris is always nice.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Paris,” Enjolras replies, reaching for Grantaire’s hand. “Let’s do it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras and Grantaire sit opposite Fantine, their fingers intertwined as they talk.

“So you’re back on the path to a successful marriage,” Fantine says with a smile. “That must feel pretty good.”

Grantaire laughs and rubs his thumb over Enjolras’ knuckles. “We had our moments. I mean, there were times when I wanted to kill him, but you know, I just couldn’t pull the trigger.”

“Oh my god, Grantaire,” Enjolras giggles, actually giggles because he can’t help himself. He’s stupidly in love with his husband.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Fantine asks, clearly oblivious to the alternate meaning to Grantaire’s words. “Being able to work through your issues is a great tool.”

“Ask the sex question,” Grantaire suddenly says, and Enjolras lets go of his hand to smack his arm and says, “Grantaire!”

Fantine flushes a soft pink, and stumbles over her next words. “I... well, uh...”

Grantaire grins and holds up both his hands.

“Ten.”


End file.
